


Icicle

by Fierceawakening



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: BDSM, Dom/sub, Drug Use, Dubious Consent, M/M, Mild Gore, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-16
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2018-01-15 21:57:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1320619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fierceawakening/pseuds/Fierceawakening
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Starscream steals one of Megatron's shards of dark energon. Megatron decides to punish him by finding an... interestingly inappropriate use for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Icicle

Starscream peered into the hall, his optics shifting as he glanced from side to side. Seeing no one, he crept forward, slinking down the hallway. The lights flickered, buzzing at they winked out and flared back on again.

He twitched his wings. He'd complained about the warship's state of disrepair since Megatron's long-ago absence, though some of that was probably his own fault. After all, he'd been the one in charge back then.

He hissed, remembering. _There's only so much you can power with the fuel you glean from a handful of mines. Especially when you need the fuel for yourself._

But now the flickering lights were his allies, helping to hide him from prying optics. A grin spread slowly over his faceplates. Not even Vehicons ventured here. He'd seen the surveillance footage that showed them forgetting their duty to patrol.

So had Soundwave, probably. Soundwave saw everything eventually. But if he hadn't gotten Starscream into trouble, that meant he hadn't seen it yet.

And Starscream would find a new hiding place by then. His stash wasn't big, and he didn't need much space to store it. One couldn't be too careful filching from Megatron's personal supply.

Most of the time he'd walked away with nothing. Or flown, changing form and rocketing through the halls as quickly as possible, seeking only to disappear.

But neither Megatron nor his silent lookout could be everywhere. Which meant Starscream didn't always scurry away empty-handed.

His claws clenched, thinking of it. A shudder ran up his backstrut and his wings twitched again, this time in unabashed eagerness. His palms felt suddenly empty, and he rubbed his hands together to fend off the feeling. If he thought hard enough, he could almost envision the long, thin claws as jagged shards of crystal, sharp enough to scratch the metal plating of his palms.

He pricked himself, digging a superficial scratch into the metal. But of course, that wasn’t enough. His hands were hot, warm with the hum of his motors and the movement of his hydraulics and the pleasure of his little sin. The things he'd stolen were ice-cold, stealing the heat of anything that touched them. There was no way to make the warmth of his hands mimic that eerie chill.

Which was probably a good thing. Reaching the door, he allowed himself a soft little laugh.

“Dark energon,” he whispered. The crystallized form of a god’s blood. Mechs had killed and died for the smallest scraps of it when the hunger was on them. Starscream felt his own spark crackle, wheeling in his chest as it pulsed in anticipation.

But was it the dark energon itself he craved, or the satisfaction of holding it in his hands, knowing he’d filched it from Megatron’s private stash?

His fingers danced over the console, and his spark pulsed anew as the doors juddered open.

The room beyond was dark, and his optics clicked and whirred as they irised open to draw in more light. Starscream could see the glow of the last shard he’d sequestered away. His spark pulsed with eager heat -- until he caught sight of the shadow behind it. A massive shape, all points and angles. Pinpricks of red light flared from the depths.

“What --?” he gasped, his engines stalling.

Clawed fingers wrapped around his shard, hiding its light from him. He snarled before he forgot he shouldn’t, spitting angry sparks.

A laugh answered him, the thunderous purr of a massive chassis vibrating. The hand tossed the shard into the air idly, as if Starscream’s precious plunder was no more than a toy.

Starscream hissed as he watched it rise. His claws twitched with the desire to reach out and seize it, but something rooted him to the spot. He watched, mesmerized and useless, as it fell. Too late, he remembered to grab for it, but his uninvited guest had already caught it, claws curled around its narrow shape like a ring of blades.

"Looking for this?" rasped a familiar voice.

“Lord Megatron -- !” Starscream gasped, just as his unwelcome guest tapped a pad on the side of the wall. The lights flickered once and then flared to their full power.

Dim as they were in this dark corner of the warship, they stung Starscream’s widened optics. Worse still, the sudden illumination afforded his lord and master a perfect view of his wincing, cringing face.

And of his arm, still half-stretched out, his claw extended and ready to grab for the crystal.

Abashed, he swept his wings downward. Hopefully Megatron would take it as a show of humility as well.

“Master --” Starscream sputtered, struggling to smooth his voice into a lulling rasp. “I was only trying to keep your dark energon _safe_ from those with prying eyes -- or grasping claws.”

“Grasping claws?” Megatron repeated, chuckling, his optics brightening.

Starscream couldn't help but grin, despite his predicament. “Well, my lord -- you know how some of the Decepticons can get -- _greedy_ \--”

“Indeed.”

Starscream bowed low, flicking his wings. His smile widened. "But now that you have come in person, it seems my vigilance is -- no longer necessary."

Megatron said nothing. His optics glowed, a molten-metal glare.

“Er -- well then,” Starscream stammered, straightening up again. “I’ll just leave the shard with you. No doubt you have your own plans for it. I would never _dream_ of interfering with them.”

He slid backward, inching toward the door. His claws itched, still restless, and he couldn’t quite seem to tear his optics away from the sliver of dark energon in Megatron’s hand.

But he might be able to use that to his advantage. He forced himself to look up at Megatron even as his optics widened again. If he played this right, it might look almost like supplication.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I really must --”

“Wait.”

Starscream froze.

Megatron tossed the shard again and caught it, his own optics fixed on Starscream, red and bright.

Cursing himself inwardly, Starscream watched the shard rise and fall, just as he had before. A faint hiss crackled from his vocalizer as Megatron pulled the prize away.

“I thought so.”

“Master, I --”

“Spare me your excuses, Starscream,” Megatron replied, turning the shard over in his hands. His claws slid over its length, its light winking from between them. Their sharp tips grazed the surface, so closely that --

_You great fool! You’ll damage it!_

Starscream gasped, shutting his lip plates tight. Had he actually _said_ that aloud? He wasn't sure. Not with Megatron looking at him like _that_ , like he had every excuse to pounce on Starscream and --

The silence lengthened. Starscream cycled air awkwardly through his vents. He shivered under the scrutiny, his plating heating with embarrassment.

Then, after a long moment, Megatron spoke.

"If you want it so badly, come here and take it."

"Master -- ?" Starscream stammered.

As before, Megatron made no reply. Cautiously, Starscream skittered forward again.

“No, Starscream. Not that way.”

“What -- ?”

Megatron chuckled again, his massive chassis vibrating in a deep, low purr.

“Down, Starscream. On your hands and knees.”

“You -- !”

In answer, Megatron opened his hand. The sliver lay in his palm, wreathed in its own mist, a glowing smoke that twined around it, promising power and pleasure both.

“Do you want it or not, Starscream?” Megatron asked, infinitely patient now that he knew he had won.

“Yes,” Starscream gasped, defeated, hanging his head.

“Then crawl.”

Starscream’s engines sputtered in protest, and his lip plates curled into a scowl. Then he lowered himself to the ground, with all the sinuous grace the Seekers were known for.

Apparently this little game was about lust, not anger. That was perfectly fine with Starscream. If Megatron wanted to have fun chastising him for his transgression, he could work with that.

True, it was humiliating to abase himself like this. And the storage room floor was nothing like the pristine tile of his quarters, or even the floor of the bridge. Those at least were clean. The floor of this old, forgotten room was filled with dust and dirt. It dug into the plating of his knees, and bit into the delicate seams between the joints of his claws.

Still, there were worse things than groveling in front of Megatron until he demanded that Starscream suck his spike.

Willing himself to ignore the dirt smearing his plating, Starscream slithered over to Megatron, canting his hips as he moved and twitching his wings in invitation. He felt his plating heat up in anticipation, and by the time he’d crossed the room he could hear the faint whir of his own cooling fans.

And the louder roar of Megatron’s. He knew that sound so well by now that there was no mistaking it.

He lifted his head, his optics flickering as he looked up at Megatron. Any moment now, he’d hear the telltale click of a panel opening and the cover hiding Megatron’s spike would retract, revealing once and for all the reason why Megatron had _really_ bothered with this little game.

After all, Megatron was apparently so interested in his attentions that he'd promised  him the shard in payment.

Slowly, deliberately, he licked his lip plates.

Megatron's optics gleamed, glowing molten-metal red as Starscream shimmied closer. His scarred mouth curled into a hungry grin that made Starscream shudder with anticipation.

But his spike cover remained stubbornly shut.

"What -- ?"

"Turn around."

Starscream chuckled as he obeyed. _Then it isn't my mouth you want._

Presenting his backside to Megatron, he lifted his aft high in the air, making a show of sliding his own cover open, exposing his yawning valve. Silvery lubricant dripped from the entrance as he heard Megatron move into position behind him.

This was even better than what he'd expected. As much as he enjoyed Megatron's spike filling his mouth, that spike in his valve would feel even better, cleaving his insides, relentless friction awakening sensors no smaller tool could reach.

Eager now, he waited, listening for the same sound he'd hoped to hear before. Any moment now, Megatron's cover would retract and his spike would spring free. Any moment now, he'd feel the tip against the rim of his valve, and then --

" _Ahhhh!_ " Starscream shrieked, his high screech shattering the silence.

The thing he felt pressed against the sensors at the rim of his valve was sharp and unyielding.

And cold.

_So cold --_

The chill stung his sensors, sharp and piercing almost to the point of pain. Cursing, he thrashed, twisting away from the source of the sensation.

"Why, Starscream," purred a voice behind him. "I thought you wanted this."

Starscream shivered. Even without the thing touching him, the rim of his valve felt cold, as though something had drained the living heat from --

“Master -- that -- that’s not --”

“Not what?” Megatron’s voice was unnervingly placid.

“Not what you do with a shard of dark energon!” Starscream spat, hissing the words.

Laughter answered him. “Tell me, Starscream. What exactly were you thinking of doing with this? Did you plan to refine it into liquid fuel?”

“Well, my lord, it --”

“I see no equipment here.”

Starscream squirmed, muttering something, trusting to the roar of Megatron’s cooling fans -- and the soft whirr of his own, which apparently even that rude surprise wasn’t enough to deter -- to hide his words.

“Or did you simply intend to shove it into your spark chamber, as you and I have both done once before?”

Starscream chuckled ruefully. “Perhaps.”

“If you are willing to take dark energon so violently into your spark, then why such qualms about this?”

“You have to be kidding.”

“I can leave. If that’s really what you want.”

“No!” Starscream gasped before he remembered to stop himself.

“That’s better,” Megatron murmured, his engines rumbling.

Starscream sighed, sliding back into position. He wasn’t looking forward to the biting cold of the dark energon, no, but Megatron was offering him a chance at the shard. Surely this -- _unconventional_ method -- would at least enable him to ingest some of it.

And these preliminaries, twisted though they were, had awoken a hunger for more than fuel. If he turned Megatron away, he’d get neither the dark energon nor the satisfaction his aching valve had already begun to crave. He braced himself for the shock of cold.

Instead he felt the touch of Megatron’s claws, blissfully warm, their touch infinitely soothing after the sting of the shard.  He whimpered shamelessly as he pushed back against them, half in relief and half in the futile hope he might convince Megatron to abandon this silly game and use him _properly,_ damn it.

But the fingers only smeared the lubricant leaking from Starscream’s valve. After a maddening little preliminary dance over a particularly sensitive cluster of sensors, they withdrew.

He felt the chill a moment before the shard touched him, the mist it radiated cooling the sensors ringing his valve’s rim. Then came the jolt as it pressed against him. Fighting not to flinch, he forced himself to be still.

He could feel his own wetness on the shard already, cooled by the shard's frigid surface. Megatron must have spread it there in hopes of easing the way. But the shard had already drained its heat, and the fresh lubricant already pooling at his entrance did little to warm him.

It would be rough going, no matter what. The shard’s surface was jagged, its core unyielding. And dark energon was the crystallized blood of a chaos god. Starscream doubted highly that Unicron the Destroyer would much care what a fragment of his blood might do to Starscream’s valve.

And neither, of course, would Megatron.

That by itself didn't daunt Starscream. He'd taken Megatron's fingers many times before, and Megatron kept his claws as razor-sharp as Starscream kept his own.

But Megatron's claws were a part of his frame, and he knew by instinct and feel how not to tear Starscream's insides apart. The shard wasn't attached to him.

And Megatron's claws weren't cold as a demon's blood.

Still, painfully intense as the sensation was, it was still stimulation. The cruel little game his lord was playing made Starscream ache for his touch, and in his desperation he could almost imagine that the sharp taper of the shard could be a clawed fingertip teasing his entrance.  

He wriggled again, trying to get used to the shard's chill. It pricked his raw sensors, and he twisted back and forth, now pressing himself against it, now reflexively pulling away.

"Starscream," Megatron's voice growled behind him.

He shuddered, his valve spasming in instinctive response to the tone.

"Settle down."

He scowled, twisting his head around to glare at Megatron, his optics bright as embers. But even as he did it, he felt his frame respond.

Another tremor shook him, and as it did he felt the tension drain from his frame. The dark energon pressed to his entrance still burned, but now its fierce bite felt almost good, a bracing intensity that made him want more.

"Good pet," Megatron purred.

Starscream ignored the slight. He could feel the gelid mist of the shard's energy rising around him, numbing the worst of the cold.

And promising the very power he'd wanted from the beginning.

"Please," he moaned.

He heard the rough sound of Megatron’s laughter behind him. But he barely had time to scowl at the smugness. His frown of distaste twisted into a shriek. He threw back his head, wailing as Megatron shoved the shard inside him.

The hard, jagged edges tore at his entrance. He fought not to twitch or resist, knowing from long experience with Megatron’s claws that he could spear his own insides if he did.

And beyond that there was the cold, a frozen crackling biting at his every sensor, filling his valve with the shock of a god’s hunger.

It seared him inside, agony racing through his systems. He’d never felt so much sensation at once, not even with Megatron’s massive spike filling him, pressing against every part of his valve walls, the friction heating places inside him that nothing else could ever touch.

The shard was much smaller, but he felt it everywhere, its eldritch energy spreading from one sensor to the next, each seared by the freezing heat, flaring to life the shard inside him hoped to drain.

He shuddered hard, bucking wildly in a strange parody of passion, and opened his mouth to cry to Megatron and the heavens and the ancient Primes and the gods that this was _wrong,_ terribly _wrong,_ and he wanted nothing more than for this terrible invader to leave his body now, right now, and he would make it up to anyone in any way, no matter how debasing or degrading.

Then he felt it.

The power of the dark energon. Crackling through his systems, searing and freezing him all at once as it sped through his circuitry, unstoppable and ravenous and bright. His optics flared, glowing brightly with a purplish tinge, energized by the dark power of the Chaos Bringer himself. Lavender light flared in the corners of his vision.

His cry became a moan, his moan a wild peal of triumphant laughter. Megatron snickered somewhere behind him, but he barely heard it. He had what he wanted, and as fiercely as it stung him, he wanted it all.

The shard began to move, scraping at the edges of his opening. He couldn’t have cared less. He’d grown used to pain long ago, and the sharp sting of the shard scratching him felt normal, familiar, almost dull compared to the wild flaring of his sensors as the shard moved inside him.

And of course Megatron was the one doing all of this. Even as Unicron’s mist curled through his processor, he recognized the casual force of the gladiator’s movements as he drove the shard inside.

And the restraint. The shard moved in and out of him with unbearable slowness, pushing in and pulling back. His sensors flared, frigid needles pricking them to full awareness, then dimmed again as the shard retreated. He could feel his own lubricant pooling around it, cool as it dripped down his thighs, a testament to his desire. For the dark energon, for the feeling of something inside him, for the mech behind him who was doing it all.

Through the haze of the dark energon, he could hear Megatron’s cooling fans, still roaring, and the jagged cycling of air in and out of the big mech’s vents.

 _You like seeing this, don’t you?_ he thought, the heady feeling of the dark energon in his systems making him bold.

Grinning crazily, he slammed himself back on the shard, beyond caring what it wrought. He felt a bright shock of pain, then a numbness as the mist of cold reached whatever wound he might have given himself. Then even that pang became pleasure, his abraded sensors singing.

Behind him, Megatron’s laughter was a thunderous roar. It filled his audio receptors, echoing in the air around him even as motes of purple light danced before his optics. Was what he was hearing real? He couldn’t be sure.

But he knew Megatron’s desire by the sliver of dark energon ramming into him, the hand that held it heedless of any damage it might do.

Or, knowing Megatron, greedy to do it.

 _Jealous?_ Starscream thought, wondering by what force of will Megatron was managing to keep from freeing his spike and taking the shard’s place.

Not that Starscream would have let him.

He slammed his hips back to meet the shard invading him, feeling something smear his thighs, pushed out by the force of his movement. Lubricant perhaps -- or his own energon, laced now with the essence the shard fed him. The cold of it burned, one sensation added to the other, and he laughed again, fey and reckless.

The shard drove into him now, again and again, moving so quickly his abused sensors barely had time to accustom themselves to its bite. He felt his own heat build, the incandescent burn of his passion, only for the dark energon’s chill to grasp at it, seize it, and start the cycle anew.

And each time it did, he rose higher and higher, the storm within him building.

“Is this what you wanted, Starscream?” he heard Megatron rasp behind him, the taunting voice staticky with lust. Distorted by the dark energon’s haze, it whispered in Starscream’s audio receptors from every direction at once, echoing and curling within him.

He didn’t answer. There was no need. He smirked, forcing his writhing frame to be still.

Megatron understood. He always did.

The sliver of dark energon slammed into him, driving deep, stabbing at his torn and bleeding insides. His sensors blazed, chilled and burning, and his spark contracted tight within his chest as if it, too, would burst, overfull of the twisted forces he had gorged himself on.

His valve twitched once, then locked tight around the invader ravaging it. He keened, a quavering cry.

Then he shrieked, his valve and frame alike spasming with the force of his pleasure. His spark pulsed, overfull, the icy energies flooding out in a ring of eldritch light. It crackled through his every circuit, pricking him as it left, blazing trails of frozen fire.

After that, there was only emptiness.

Numbness pervaded him, the cold nestled deep within his spark. He cycled air heavily through his vents, panting, knowing he would not be warm again for a long time. And his valve ached, something deep within him torn. The dark energon’s echoes blunted the worst of his wound’s sting, but he would feel it soon enough.

Such was the price of a chaos god’s blood. And the price of giving himself to Megatron.

But the high of the dark energon hadn’t completely faded. He felt the last of its mist curl through him, bright lavender will-o-the-wisps dancing at the edges of his vision. He twitched his claws, still hungry, his sensors prickling as feeling returned.

His optics flickered, their light still tinged with violet as they brightened again. He twisted his neck to look behind him and saw the bright, untainted red of another pair of optics staring back.

“Was that what you wanted, Starscream?” said Megatron, stepping forward even as Starscream turned to face him. Now that he could look at Megatron more directly, he could see a glowing sliver clutched tight in his lord’s hand, silvery lubricant smearing it.

And energon, too -- its usual blue tinted the same purple as the sharpened sliver Megatron held.

Starscream watched it drip, mesmerized, and licked his lips.

“Not quite,” he murmured, his lip plates twisting into a sharp little smile.

Megatron grinned back at him, his mouth a ring of blades.

“But it was -- close enough,” Starscream finished, bowing his head and drawing a claw expansively in front of him.


End file.
